Monday, March 24, 2008


This would be the second day he wouldn’t leave work with dirty hands and he hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet.  “Dirty hands means you’re working,” his father used to say.  So what did that mean in his current predicament?  Temp-to-hire.  Quick to fire. 

Four ‘o’ clock saw him going out to the parking lot, rubbing his hands in a blackened snow bank, then returning to his pristine, postmodern cube.  His keyboard would be black in a month if he kept this up.  The routine might get old by week’s end, but until he gets used to it, his hands will continually stay dirty.



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